It's a Wonderful Spoiler
by Matril
Summary: Lizzie Bennet Diaries. Dizzie fluff, with a heavy helping of meta. Set in December 2013.


"I can't _believe_ you've never seen this movie."

William's lips curled in the slightest of smirks. "That seems to be a common refrain in our relationship."

"Well, it's not my fault that you're sadly lacking in knowledge of the classics." Lizzie nestled deeper into the crook of his arm and took up the remote, trying to navigate through the menu currently displayed on the enormous screen before them. She was less than successful.

"Wrong remote," William said, his smirk twitching.

"Yeah, I figured that out." Lizzie tossed the offending device across the couch and fumbled for the right one. "Seriously, you need an advanced degree in Home Theaterology to figure out this setup."

"I believe that is one of my degrees," he said with that infuriatingly dry, amused tone he always got when Lizzie was frustrated with something. "May I?"

"Fine." She shoved the remote at him. "Mr-Know-it-all."

"Not quite." He glanced at her. "Sadly lacking in knowledge of the classics, I believe you said?"

Lizzie laughed.

"But I think the real issue," he went on, "is that we have vastly different definitions of the classics."

"Very true. And I don't begrudge your attempts to educate me in the knowledge of – uh – _non-mainstream cinema._" She smiled at him to let him know she wasn't just teasing. "I've really enjoyed a lot of the films you've introduced me to."

"I'm glad." He kissed the top of her head. "And I, in turn, have found much of value in your version of film history."

She grinned. "Well, you're going to like this one. I guarantee it. My family watches it every Christmas. Practically every family does. I still can't believe – what are you doing?"

With his free arm, William had pulled out his laptop and begun typing one-handed, which he could manage with a speed that rivaled most other people's two-handed attempts. "Just doing a little research."

"What? You said you were done with work for the day."

"This isn't for work."

She watched him, furrowing her brow. His expression as he bent over the screen revealed nothing, whether he was serious or still teasing her. She had learned to read him fairly well after about nine months of dating – a vast improvement over willfully misreading his every mood when they first knew each other – but sometimes he still managed to be inscrutable.

Not that she was complaining. Inscrutability was kind of a major turn-on.

He smiled vaguely as she entwined her fingers in his, then cleared his throat and spoke. "The film went into general release in January of 1947."

"Okay…"

"After the Christmas season was over."

"So?" She rolled her eyes. "That's irrelevant. It's a Christmas movie, trust me. It's pretty much an institution."

"Mmm." He continued to scan the screen. "Thanks to a clerical error that prevented the renewal of its copyright in 1974, local television stations began airing it almost constantly during the holiday season. By the 1980s it had become a perennial holiday favorite."

"See? I told you."

"'I didn't even think of it as a Christmas story when I first ran across it.' That's a quotation from the director himself."

"Would you quit it?" Lizzie tried to pry the laptop away from him, but he resisted with his usual iron-like grip. "Can we just enjoy this and not pick it to pieces?"

He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Surely you know by now that this is _how _I enjoy something."

"Yeah, I know," she grumbled.

"And you've done your fair share of analyzing the media we consume."

"Yeah, I _know_. But sometimes it's nice to just shut off your brain and relax."

William smiled. "I've never been more relaxed in my life."

"Good. Just put away the laptop."

"One more moment. This is intriguing."

"What?"

"Some early critics of the film were concerned that the villain of the story received no comeuppance for his misdeeds, fearing that it conveyed a message of evil going unpunished –"

"Now hold on a second," Lizzie said, snatching at the laptop once more. This time she was quick enough to grab it before he could stop her. "That's a spoiler."

He rolled his eyes. "The concept of a spoiler is an artificial construct arising from over-saturation of information in the modern era."

She shut the laptop with a solid _click_. "Excuse me?"

"Foreknowledge of the events of a story in no way inhibits one's enjoyment of that story." He was settling in for a long discourse; she recognized the signs. And she could have stopped him short so they could just watch the stupid movie already, but she kind of loved his long discourses, especially when they led into impassioned discussions and possibly other impassioned things.

So she goaded him on. "You really think there's no such thing as a spoiler? You realize that claim flies in the face of entire Internet fandoms."

"Take a look at the history of literature and drama," William said, spreading out his hands as if they could see a visual representation of that history on the carpet. "Every great work has been derived from a story already familiar to the audience. Homer, Shakespeare, Wagner, Goethe. They drew from a rich tradition of folklore and myth. The stories held the interest of the audience not because of surprise twists and gimmicks in the plotlines, but because of how well the story was told, and how it explored universal themes in fresh ways."

"Nope. Still not convinced," Lizzie said, setting aside the laptop so she could turn and look him full in the face for her rebuttal. "Even if the general points of the story are borrowed from the other sources, an adaptation can still throw in a few surprises. And it's much more fun to be surprised than to be spoiled."

William shook his head. "If that were true, then the story would no longer hold any interest for you once you had experienced it for the first time. And yet you say that you've watched this film every year, and enjoy it every time."

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "I didn't say the surprises were the _only _thing I liked about it. It's a different experience seeing something after the first time, but it's still enjoyable."

"Hmm."

"It's a disservice to the storytellers," she pressed on, "to find out the details of the story in some way that they didn't intend. It messes up the suspense."

He tilted his head. "Perhaps. But I feel I can appreciate the art of well-crafted suspense even while knowing what it is leading to."

"So you're appreciating it on a cerebral level, fine." She ran her thumb over his palm. "Just consider appreciating it on a visceral level. No spoilers. No foreknowledge. You might be surprised how much it heightens your enjoyment."

"Hmm," he said again.

"And consider this," she said, feeling she might actually win this one. "What if someone ruined all your surprises? What if I told you what was in all those presents under the tree?"

"I know what half of them are," he said, his smirk reappearing, but she ignored that.

"And what if someone had told us, when we first met, that we would eventually end up together?"

"I would certainly have questioned the authority of such a person."

"No, but what if they could prove it? You know, with footage from my future videos or something."

Once more his eyebrows lifted. "I believe the revelation that time travel was possible would have overridden most other surprises."

She laughed and knocked him lightly in the shoulder. "You know what I mean."

He considered, then put his hand to her face and said softly, "It would have given me hope."

With some considerable effort, Lizzie resisted the urge to kiss him senseless and end the argument by forfeit. "Very nice," she murmured, then cleared her throat and continued in a normal voice, "but let's be reasonable. It probably would have ruined everything."

"How so?"

"It would have made you presumptuous."

"As if I wasn't already?"

"Even more so. And it would have made me angry. Even more resistant. No, we needed to find our own way in the right time."

"Fair point," he said. Before she could gloat he said, "But there's a flaw in your reasoning. We were talking about stories, not real life."

"Does that matter?"

"Very much. A story is a fabrication, a deliberately crafted tale with a beginning and an ending. Each detail that is included is put there for a reason, for exposition or future pay-off. The same is hardly true of real life. There are thousand of inconsequential details. Some paths lead nowhere at all. Spoilers cannot exist when the future hasn't yet been written."

She couldn't decide what she was enjoying more – the intelligent, articulate thoughts that spilled almost effortlessly from his mouth, or the movements of that mouth and the rest of his face and oh, pretty much all of him. The warmth and intensity of his entire being while he talked about something that mattered to him. Those little gestures he made with his hands –

Screw it. She lunged at him, capturing his mouth mid-sentence. He didn't protest in the slightest, but after a rather lengthy kiss he brushed the hair back from her face and asked, "Are you trying to distract me?"

"What!" she said, pretending to be affronted. "Not at all. It's just all those four-syllable words. They're irresistible."

"They have a rather irresistible quality coming from you, as well." His hand drifted up and down her back. "Do you really want to watch this film?"

She was gazing into his eyes, slipping closer and closer to him, when the meaning of his words finally broke through. "Oh! Yes. Now you're distracting me. We are going to watch this. No matter how much you've been spoiled."

"And if I enjoy it in spite of that, does that prove my point?"

"Hah. No. It's still a great movie whether you're surprised or not. But now you'll never know what it's like to see it unspoiled. Too bad."

"I'm sure I can find some way to console myself."

As he finally pressed play on the remote and the familiar strains of "Buffalo Gals" filled the room, Lizzie settled into his arms with a smirk widening on her own face. Coming from William, that was practically a concession of defeat. She had definitely won this one.


End file.
